her face.
“How would you know the perfect candidate?”
“I read about Paul Jones in the paper.”
“And you want to be the next Paul Jones?” he asked, his voice taking on a sharp edge as he looked at her more closely. Did she realize Paul Jones had been a con artist? Was she one, also?
“Yes!”
“No way in hell, lady. Now, get out of my office or I’ll call security.” He wasn’t about to get himself in another mess like the one with Paul Jones. The man had lied and cheated and threatened blackmail. So much for Will’s philanthropical efforts.
“Why won’t you listen to me?” she cried out. “Is it because I’m a woman? Are you one of those men who believe women are incapable of counting above ten?”
He gave her his most cynical smile. “The women I know are quite capable of counting millions, especially if it’s someone else’s millions.”
Her chin thrust forward and her eyes narrowed. “I’m only asking to be heard. I’m not trying to steal from you.”
“Look, our sponsorship program has been suspended pending evaluation, so you’re wasting your time.”
“No!” she snapped, as if it were her decision. “No, no, no!”
He grinned. How his mother would hate this woman, so demanding, argumentative, determined. She was exactly the opposite of those sweet-smelling, soft creatures whose hearts were made of iron.
In fact, if he chose a wife like this lady, his mother would probably wash her hands of him in despair.
As his hand reached for the phone to call security, he halted in midair. A ridiculous thought—but intriguing. He shot a look at her ring finger. Bare.
“Are you married?” he asked.
For the first time since she’d entered his office, she drew back. Only inches, but a definite retreat.
“Why?”
“I want to know.”
She hesitated but finally answered, “No.”
“I will listen to your pitch tonight. Write down your address,” he ordered, shoving a piece of paper and a pen across his desk, “and I’ll pick you up at eight. It’s formal.”
“What’s formal?” she asked, her voice wary. She hadn’t picked up the pen yet, and he wondered just how strong her determination was. She might save him from his bizarre idea if she weakened.
“I have to attend a reception this evening. It’s the only time I can give you. Take it or leave it.”
She stared at him and he calmly waited for her decision. He’d always been a gambler. But he’d never taken such a personal risk before.
She reached out for the pen and paper and wrote down an address. He took it from her and nodded as he folded it and put it into his top pocket. “Eight o’clock.” Without another word he returned to his perusal of the letter. Even as she walked to his office door, he’d lost himself in the new project he was working on.
Will put his Jaguar in Park and pulled the piece of paper from his tux jacket pocket: 1205 Wornall Avenue. He slowly lifted his gaze to the monstrosity in front of him. The Lucky Charm Diner—an old trolley car, painted a pea green, though half the paint had peeled off, set at the edge of the small parking lot. The sign on top of it was covered with graffiti, making its name almost unreadable.
She couldn’t live here. The woman he’d seen this morning, Kathryn O’Connor, in that elegant blue suit, couldn’t live in a diner. If she did, his plan would not only upset his mother, but it might also give her a heart attack.
Maybe Miss O’Connor just wanted to meet him here. She hadn’t seemed the cautious type, though these days any woman should be. But couldn’t she find a classier place to meet?
He shut off the engine and got out of the car. As he stood there, adjusting his gold cuff links, a rattletrap old pickup pulled into one of the many empty spaces. Without even a glance in his direction, two grizzled men in coveralls got out and entered the diner.
With a shrug, Will followed them.
He surveyed the small eatery, noting the faded tabletops, their green color matching the outside paint, the patched and uneven floor, the close quarters. Clearly a down-and-out café. Its name had certainly not been lucky for the owner.
Clearing his throat, he waited for the only employee in sight, a frizzy-haired, middle-aged woman, to acknowledge him.
“Just come on in and park yourself, honey. We’re not formal here.” Even as she greeted him, she was pouring coffee for the two men who had preceded him.
“I’m looking for Miss Kathryn O’Connor,” he explained crisply, trying to hold back his distaste.
The woman paused and giggled, her gaze sweeping over him. “Oh! You must be the gentleman she said would be coming. Kate!” she called in gargantuan tones. “He’s here.”
Will barely stopped himself from shaking his head in amazement. He couldn’t have chosen a better place to shock his mother if he’d tried. The picture of her entering this establishment, in her fur and pearls, almost made him burst out laughing.
The redhead appeared from a door to the side of the counter. The men drinking their coffee put down their cups and clapped and whistled, jerking Will from his thoughts.
She was wearing a little black dress, cut low in front, displaying her charms, and slit to the thigh on one side. Sheer black nylons led his eyes to the high heels that only emphasized all those curves.
His mouth suddenly dry, he cleared his throat again and muttered, “Good evening, Miss O’Connor.”
Seemingly unaffected by his appearance, she replied, “Hello, Mr. Hardison. Are you ready?”
“Hey, Kate, where you going, all duded up?” a member of their audience called out.
Will frowned in his direction but waited for the woman to answer.
“This is a business meeting, Larry.”
“Whooeee! I think I’m going into business!” the man whooped as all the others laughed.
Will’s soon-to-be date laughed along with the men, but he didn’t. “Miss O’Connor, this is a formal affair,” he said.
“This is as dressy as I come, Mr. Hardison. I haven’t frequented formal occasions lately.”
His gaze briefly roamed the diner before he said, “I can see.” He hadn’t intended his remark as a criticism but he saw the flash of anger in her green eyes.
“If I’ll be too much of an embarrassment to you, we can have our meeting here and then you can proceed without me.”
“Not at all, Miss O’Connor.
